


In Moderation

by its_mike_kapufty



Series: Rhink Ficlets [19]
Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: College, Dirty Talk, Don't copy to another site, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 03:11:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18864541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_mike_kapufty/pseuds/its_mike_kapufty
Summary: Rhett and Link both know it's wrong to have the urges they do. They'd grown up knowing it.But college gives them freedom to toe that line without consequence, if they're careful and adhere to one simple rule.





	In Moderation

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [Em](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssodangdark/works?fandom_id=1373381) for beta'ing! ❤ You're a gem!

“Come on, Rhett.”

His head hits the pillow, drawn gasps redirected up at the bottom of Link’s bunk.

“Never gone easy on yourself before. Why start now?”

“Fuck,” Rhett grunts in response. The words deliver into his shoulder and scald him at the exact temperature he needs. When he pauses to adjust his cramping grip on his well-slicked cock, his hammering heart and heaving chest provide the only noise in their room—which _isn’t_ what he needs. It simply serves the gall required to implore, “More. _More,_ Link.”

“Mmm.” The calm consideration rumbles chest against ribs. “Sometimes I reckon you take such a long time ‘cause you like keepin’ me waiting. Enjoy this a little too much, I think.”

It’s an implication wrapped in filth, and the blow is exactly as devastating as Link intends it to be. On the verge of an undignified moan, Rhett buries his nose in brown hair and settles for dripping a series of whimpers. _“You_ started this,” he argues in a voice scratched high and every bit as feeble as Link knows he is while he’s fucking himself on his hand.

Link shifts—barely, but it’s still torture in the split second when the weight of his thigh leaves Rhett’s, when his arm isn’t draped over Rhett’s chest, when his bare stomach isn’t pinning Rhett’s free hand to his side. Godsend, that it doesn’t last long; all pressures return to their assigned homes after Link gets comfortable, and the heft of being cradled for this session returns with a hot, long exhale that cracks goosebumps over Rhett’s neck.

“Like I don’t remember,” Link mumbles. There’s a note of something in his tone that’s too dangerous to unpackage while Rhett’s getting lost in the smell and care of his best friend, so he doesn’t. “Had you pressed up against my back like that. But I still had to touch myself.”

Rhett keens, grateful that the bead trickling down his brow opts for his temple and not his eyes.

“More, talk about that. Wanna h-hear it.”

The hand above Rhett’s head fans fingers through his hair in a trawling pet, coaxing a sex-wrecked groan from his throat.

“Couldn’t resist, Rhett. Knew it wasn’t right. Didn’t care. Was too tired from studyin’ with you all night.” After some thought that eats away agonizing seconds where Rhett slows the flick of his wrist, Link continues, “Prob’ly the first time you ever fell asleep before me. That tell you how bad I wanted it?”

Dizzy from heat and drenched in sweat, Rhett blots out everything except Link’s narrative and chases it, screwing his eyes shut.

“Who were you thinkin’ about?” Impressive, that he can still form coherent sentences.

“That girl from physics 210. The one with the black hair.”

“Shit, she’s hot.”

“I know. It was good. But then _you_ woke up.”

The absolute broil cast on the words hitches Rhett’s breath and possesses him to thumb the head of his cock as it leaks. It helps ebb the white-hot fast encroaching.

“What’d I say to you?” His bicep burns like sin when he continues stroking, cheek finding Link’s hair. He smells like home. “I forget.”

 _“Liar.”_ Link traces his fingers from Rhett’s chest up to his clavicle before jutting out to feel his arm muscles pumping away. It isn’t lost on Rhett how his roommate stiffens, lungs stuttering at being able to feel the efforts of Rhett pleasuring himself. “You said _‘don’t stop.’_ ”

“And did you stop?” Rhett begs. He knows—needs to hear Link say it.

“No. I _came._ Curled right there against you,” recalls Link huskily, and Rhett’s grasp on himself turns bruising. “Just… got wasted on it. Can’t imagine I didn’t grind on you while I was cumming.”

He had.

_“Fuck, Link—”_

“Like thinkin’ 'bout that? Me, buckin’ back against you, Rhett?”

_“I—”_

“Were you hard, that first time? Already knew you were fucked?”

_“I can’t—”_

“Were you as hard as I am right now, bo? _Christ.”_

Retorts dissolve into a shivering, furtive moan as Rhett arches from the bed, slammed with his climax. It’s wave after wave of roiling, with Link trying to restrain him onto the mattress, the brunet swearing under his breath— _he’s in the line of fire,_ _I’m_ cumming _on him,_ Rhett realizes distantly, which only extends the quakes of pleasure threatening to break his faith.

Even Rhett recognizes that he sounds like he’s crying when the tremors subside, eyes bolted wide and watery on the underside of the top bunk’s mattress. “Oh… oh, gosh,” he whispers—and with that, is finally is able to meet Link’s gaze again.

Piercing blue rings around dilated and depraved pools of black—under damp bangs and above pink-kissed cheeks. Link is shivering.

“It got on my arm,” he notes, voice low and trembling with strain.

“I kinda figured.” Rhett locates the stray release and wipes Link clean with his palm, careful and slow. “There.” He swabs the tacky mess into a tissue nabbed from the bedside table before mopping his chest dry as well.

“Rhett,” Link presses, and the larger one shakes his head, familiar with the brand of panic threatening to rear its head.

“It’s still okay, buddy. So long as we don’t actually… y’know. _Handle_ each other.”

With a hard swallow, Link’s lips part just so. He doesn’t seem to find comfort in that rule anymore, and Rhett’s suspicions are confirmed when Link whispers, “But I really, _really_ wanted to, Rhett. Wanted to do _more_ than just ‘handle’ you.” The confession ends with a punctual shiver, and Rhett fights down one of dozens of urges.

He pulls himself from Link’s care and sits up to loom over him. Link’s palming his arousal through his boxers absently, and Rhett tells himself it’s okay to steal a lingering glance at the excessive wet spot darkening the front of them. The quiver that takes him at the sight doesn’t mean anything. It’s just an aftershock.

“Get it out of your system, then—s’your turn.”

Some of the hesitation and fear vacates Link’s features. He nestles farther into Rhett’s bed, adjusting until he’s in his favorite position and patting his breast as invitation.

They’ve done this before. Rhett knows it’s his thing—knows how absolutely wild Link gets when he’s pinned down chest-to-chest—so he lowers his upper half onto him without a second thought. There’s a steeling sigh as Link pulls his waistband down and shoulders the responsibility of avoiding eye contact.

“Holy crap, did I _really_ wanna touch you that time, Rhett.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you were imaginin’, then? Every last detail.”


End file.
